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I couldn’t focus on Friday. Couldn’t think, couldn’t work. I went home after work anxious to get ready, but nervous too. Refuses was on his way, but hinted at hanging out with his buddies later tonight… as in…he wasn’t planning to stay with me. And my only goal for the evening was to not sleep with him.

I looked hot. Thank God. He showed up at my door and we finished my beer while I grabbed my clutch and keys. He met me in my room, where we kissed for three quick seconds, perfect and slow. Not knowing what to say, he rushed to sit on the couch, while I used my shaking hands to locate my lip gloss, and muttered something to myself about not crying.

We went to dinner and drank. Asian Pear Mojitos for me, and keep ’em coming. We had a great time, loved every second.
Refuses leaned in to kiss me again, I pushed him away.

He said “We should probably talk,” and I got a bitter taste in my mouth. Like he really came all this way to break up with me, again? I couldn’t believe it. I could feel my cheeks get red, full of all my foolish hope that it would turn out another way.

The meal took a turn away from pleasant, and we left to finish the conversation at my house.